We returned to restaurant at noon, just as the owner was returning from the market with plastic bags full of fresh vegetables in each of his hands. He nodded to us, so we sat down. A younger woman, presumably his daughter, came out to take our order: feta, olives, tzakziki, and a pitcher of local red wine to start, followed by the special mixed grill.

The meal was the essence of every romantic dream I’ve had about Mediterranean food: the feta, sharp and rich and fresh, the black olives, briny, and the wine light enough that Peter and I thought we could spend the entire day drinking it. The grill was a tower of pork. lamb, beef, sausages, and chicken served on a bed of crispy fries with fresh lemon and parsley. The owner smiled and told us to take our time. Bellissimo.

View my pictures from our tour of Corfu, Greece …

Yesterday was a delayed recovery day. We slept until 10:00 a.m., ate a light breakfast (mostly liquid, mostly caffeine), and lounged at the hotel until lunch at La Gardunya, a wonderful restaurant tucked into a corner of the Mercat de la Boqueria. In the afternoon we walked around the neighborhoods directly adjacent to La Ribera and went to the Picasso Museum. On the way, we found the first of several suns for our wall in a mask shop on Princesa Street. Peter chose a limited edition Gaudi-inspired sun as his birthday gift, and the shopkeeper volunteers to package it for travel and hold it until we return on the 8th.

We didn’t manage to stay up late enough to enjoy a proper dinner any of the last three nights (restaurants here don’t open until 9:00 or 9:30 p.m.), but tapas and a bottle of red wine each night were perfect meals for us.

View pictures from our walking tour of Barcelona. 

We begin the day at a coffee and pastry shop down the street from hotel. Say what you will about Cappuccino UK’s pandering to a tourist crowd, the place speaks the international language of espresso drinks fluently.

Then, Park Guell, designed by Gaudi in the early 1900s for the city’s aristocracy. From there, we cabbed to Sagrada Familia. Neither Peter nor I felt like waiting in line to see the interior, so we cabbed instead to the famed Block of Discord.

Lunch: Cafe de L’academia, recommended by Rick Steves in his guide to the city. We split a salad and a bottle of white wine (from what we’ve read, the wine comes from the proprietor’s own vineyard), and I have sautéed squid with mushroom risotto.

We spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around the La Ribera neighborhood and the old part of town before returning to Taller de Tapas for dinner.

I tend to interpret cities comparatively, maybe because likening new places to familiar ones makes the adventure more manageable. Parts of Barcelona remind me of Paris, Prague, Berlin, Dresden, Vienna, and Munich … only cleaner and more welcoming. We’ve been here only a couple of days, but I understand why all our friends who’ve come to Barcelona speak longingly of it. Mi gusto.

The hotel is a gem, centrally located but tucked away on a quiet street and all but impossible to find unless you know it’s there. Done in glass, stone, and velvet, the Neri is a mix of old and new architectural elements, austere design sensibilities, and thoughtful flourishes of luxury. I stood underneath the rainforest shower head for what felt like hours.

Our plan for the day is simply to stay awake until a respectable hour for an early dinner. After a late breakfast/early lunch at the hotel, we went out to explore the old part of Barcelona. We started at the Cathedral and then made our way to the Palau de la Música Catalana, the designed by Lluis Domènech i Montaner in the early 20th century. Afterward, we strode down Las Ramblas and checked out the Mercat de la Boqueria, the covered market where we plan to go to for lunch or breakfast today or tomorrow.

Dinner last night, Taller Tapas, a place recommended by the hotel. We have a bottle-and-a-half of the crianza roija, just like Rebecca said we should. The meal was fantastic: mushrooms, spinach and chickpeas, jambon with paprika, gambas sautéed in garlic and Maldon salt, braised lamb shank, crusty bread rubbed with fresh tomato, and chicken skewers.

“Yes, hello, room 306. Would you like more vodka?” Why, indeed, we would. After four bottles from the mini-bar, we’re still not tired. We split three more drinks (and, I confess, some potato chips) brought up from the bar. Even though tipping isn’t required here in Barcelona, I feel strange not giving the hotel staff something for their trouble. We watch part of the first episode of BBC’s Zen, fall asleep around 8 p.m. and wake up at 2:30 a.m.—after an hour and two more Advil PMs, fall back to sleep until construction wakes us moments after 8 a.m.

Barcelona. Italy. Greece. Croatia. Spain. We’ll be gone for 17 days, total, and visiting nine different cities between land and sea. It’s a trip we’ve been planning for over a year now. My iPad’s loaded with maps of the different regions, restaurant and site recommendations from friends (thank you, Dropbox), and tons of new music and books and magazines. Jason will be here, suitcase in tow, within the hour to watch over Annyong and Maebe and Chez Miranayes while we’re gone. Laundry’s done, bags are packed, checklists are checked. Away, we go!

Stamtisch. Peter tells me in that, in German, the word translates into the concept of a regular’s table that’s reserved for their use. Oceanique is our stamtisch, place we’ve been so often that both casual weeknight dinner and big celebration lead us back. We like to think that the small front four-top by the bar, just past the entrance, is ours alone. In any event, it’s always ready for us.

And so it was last night, when we gathered with Barbara and Jen to celebrate Barbara’s birthday. The wine director Philip, Chef Mark’s son, steered us as always to some wonderful champagne and wine wines. Mark came out of the kitchen to give Barbara a birthday hug and to thank us for coming. And after a long evening of great food and drink and conversation, we made another date with each other and headed home. Philip called out as we left, “here’s to another 75.” Save our table, Philip, we’ll be there.